Bröllop
by coeurgryffondor
Summary: "Come on baby girl." Big arms sweep Freja up, Berwald throwing his bag over his shoulder. "We've got a wedding to get to." / SuNor with OFC from a few of my other stories. AN with any info you'd need.


Author's note: June 22 was Midsummer so here you go. This goes along with the other Freja stories, most notably « Birthday kisses » and « A different kind of two papas ». Because I can write sappy things too, see!

Posted to cheer up **ducere** and because I want more adorable SuNor. :D

* * *

**Bröllop**

_"We come to love not by finding a perfect person, but by learning to see an imperfect person perfectly." -Sam Keen_

Freja runs excitedly into the room, throwing herself on the bed where her father normally lays. Still half asleep and not wanting to get up just yet Berwald watches her, smiling sleepily. She looks at him with sad eyes.

"Where's Daddy?" Freja falls over into the space where Lukas normally sleeps.

"Daddy is at Uncle Christen's, remember?"

"No," the girl complains with a look of anger and disappointment. Berwald pulls her to him, tugging the sheets out from under her small body to cover it too. "When is he coming back?" Panicked she tries to sit up. "Did he run away‽ He can't have, Daddy has to marry you today!"

Laughing the Swedish man calms his daughter with a kiss to the cheek. "Daddy is with Uncle Christen to get ready, so we don't see each other before the wedding."

"Really?" Freja thinks that over for a minute. "That seems stupid. What if he gets worried and you have to calm him down?"

"He can call." Sighing Berwald turns his head to take in the time. "And I think it's probably getting to that time where you and I need to start getting ready. But first, breakfast."

"Breakfast!" Standing shakily Freja throws her arms in the air, her father lifting her with ease to carry downstairs.

* * *

Lukas's hands had started to shake in anticipation over the last few days; watching his own on the table, Berwald isn't sure if he's upset that his aren't. Then again, Lukas had the engagement ring while the Swedish half of their union wouldn't get his ring until the ceremony.

"I like when you make breakfast," Freja says from across the table, fork held awkwardly in one hand as the other hand picks up a piece of pancake to put in her mouth. Hair sticks to the sides of her face, standing up in certain places from sleeping on it. Berwald knows his hair stands up just the same in the morning.

"Daddy makes a good breakfast."

"Daddy makes a good lunch," his three year old corrects. "You make a good breakfast because Daddy has to eat your breakfast before he wants to make anyone else food. And he has to drink coffee. Lots of coffee."

"Lots of coffee," Berwald agrees, sipping at his own. His heart beat is definitely a little bit faster today, his mind always drifting to his Norwegian fiancé, but other than that Berwald feels collected. It's nice.

* * *

He had decided it would be easier if he was left to get ready alone with Freja, taking the little girl into the master bathroom to give a bath. They sing songs in Swedish as he dries her hair, brushing it back the way Lukas had said to. It had been a good call on his boyfriend's part to buy Freja a dress to wear before the wedding, then change her at the location. She was a messy little one some days and the Norwegian wanted the photos they'd have for forever to be perfect.

All set in her first pretty dress of the day Berwald puts his daughter down on the edge of his bed. Handing her his iPad which immediately grabs her attention, the Swedish nation finally has his own chance to shower, singing to himself. When the water is cut a voice at the door asks, "Papa?"

"Yes dearest?" He's careful to pull his towel into the shower stall, wrapping it securely around himself. Peter and Olov were boys, he could be less careful around them, but Freja was his princess and Berwald was definitely set on being the sort of father teenage boys feared.

"Daddy called." Stepping out of the stall he can barely make out his phone in her hands. "I told him you were in the shower. He said he wanted to make sure you were ok."

"Did Daddy sound nervous?" He pulls a second towel to his hair, starting to dry it.

With the honesty and enthusiasm that a girl her age possess Freja gleefully answers, "Yup!" Berwald smiles wide, pulling his glasses on from where they'd been left on the counter. Now everything is sharper as he takes himself in in the mirror, putting his chin up close. He really did hate shaving.

"Go sit and I'll be done in a few minutes."

"Can I stay here?" Looking over his shoulder he sees Freja leaning against the door post. "I promise I'll be good and won't get in your way."

"This isn't that exciting," Berwald murmurs but lets her anyway. Lukas was unpleasant most mornings; Berwald, on the other hand, quite enjoyed the beginning of the day. It had so much potential.

Not really paying attention the Swedish kingdom continues his singing as he goes through his morning routine, Freja joining in on one song she recognizes. Then she giggles.

"And what's so funny you?" Lifting her over his shoulder the father carries his little girl into the room, dropping her on his bed. Now to find his clothes….

"You are, Papa."

"And why is that?" He pulls on his clothes quickly, leaving the jacket and tie to get packed away. Maybe Berwald would have Christen tie it; either way Lukas wouldn't like it and better to have the Dane take the blame than himself.

"You're so happy today!"

Stopping to take in the little girl Berwald swears his heart is about to burst from his chest. Her face is like an angel's, soft blonde curls that had escaped the brush falling around her face. Her blue eyes take him in lovingly, her smile big and wide. "I guess I am," the father sighs. "And I should be, shouldn't I?"

"Because you get to marry Daddy!" Freja sings. "How long have you and Daddy been together?"

"Forever," the Swede answers without thinking, which isn't exactly accurate but isn't exactly inaccurate either.

"Then why are you two getting married now? Why weren't you married before?" Taking in her sweet face it's hard to imagine what life was like before Freja. It had been like this with her namesake, as if his daughter had always been here, a child like Emil and Timo had once been and not… mortal.

That's why Lukas is so fussy about the photographs, Berwald knows: each moment with Freja is another moment they'll never get back. And while it's wonderful to now live in a world where life expectancies are longer and women aren't defined by their husbands and homosexuality isn't illegal but rather embraced in their countries, accepted like it's never been before– this was a moment they wanted to keep forever. This, right here, their family and their happiness and their love, this was the pinnacle of their humanity.

"Come on baby girl." Big arms sweep Freja up, Berwald throwing his bag over his shoulder. "We've got a wedding to get to."

"Yay!"

* * *

The car ride is rather uneventful, Berwald breathing deeply and mentally going over all the details while Freja happily babbles in the back.

Lukas is getting ready at Christen's with Emil. He has the dog, Tessan being Christen's responsibility to get groomed while Emil calms the nervous groom down. Just imagining his Norwegian pacing makes Berwald smile without meaning to; he loves how his fiancé could get carried away, dropping his mask as he'd planned and planned this day–

"Papa's thinking about Daddy!" Freja sings out, making her father laugh.

"I love Daddy," he says, trying to sound serious but still grinning.

"And Daddy loves you!" Her shoulders rise at the end of her sentence as if to be a physical exclamation point.

Peter would be meeting them there, the fourteen year old serving as his father's best man. Choosing the best men had been both easy and hard, Berwald picking his son and Lukas his brother. But at the same time there had been Christen, who had just smiled and assured them that he didn't want to get in the middle of them, he'd learned his lesson from all the wars. Christen had volunteered to take care of Freja and Tessan; he hated to admit it but Berwald really was grateful for having the Dane in his life.

And then there had been Timo. To say it had been awkward would be the understatement of perhaps Berwald Oxenstierna's entire life.

Yet the Finn had taken it like a champ, happily congratulating the Swede on the engagement and assuring him that he meant it, really. He wanted Berwald to be happy and held no hard feelings against either him or the Norwegian. Part of him had wanted Timo to be his best man, because he had been his only friend and comfort for many centuries. Maybe the Finnish nation had sensed that, even though Berwald never said it. Berwald has failed to say a lot of things to Timo, but he's always hoped the man knew anyway.

"Papa you're not smiling!" Freja complains. Blinking away his thoughts he looks in the rearview mirror to see his daughter pouting.

"Don't worry baby girl," Berwald sighs, "I'm smiling on the inside."

* * *

He slams the door, going around to unbuckle Freja from her seat. In the distance he can see another car pulling in along side them, carrying Freja and their bag and locking the door. Berwald would have to remember to pass his keys to Christen to take the little girl home tonight with Lukas's dog.

"Papa!" a voice calls from the other side of his black Volvo.

"Peter!" Freja calls back as they make their way around, Peter emerging from the other car.

"Hey Freja," and he kisses his sister's cheek. "Oh Pops, let me get those," and the micronation takes Berwald's bag.

"Thanks kid," and he gives his son a one-arm hug. "Hey Olov," he nods to his other son who grumbles as he gets out of the back seat.

"Be nice to your father," Timo chides as he locks the car, coming around to join them. Olov just meanders off, Peter exchanging a look with Berwald.

"Hi Mr. Timo," Freja says shyly, burying her head in the crook her father's shoulder and bringing her hand to her mouth. Instinct has Berwald and Timo both reaching out to pull the hand away; Peter says nothing as the men take their hands back, Timo smiling despite clearly not meaning it one hundred percent.

"You all ready for this?" he asks brightly.

"More than last time," Berwald admits. "Sorry you got me when I was a mess." Timo laughs and the tension melts away.

"It's fine, now come on, let's get inside before we get too hot."

"Yeah, Lukas picked a real hot day for this wedding," Peter says sarcastically. Sometimes the Nordic men forgot that Peter was, in fact, used to a much warmer climate. Pulling his son in with his free arm Berwald falls in line behind Timo as they enter the castle.

* * *

"You're boy is freaking out!" Christen announces as he enters the suite. Peter doesn't bother looking up from the iPad, Freja on his lap watching him play some game. In the mirror Timo is doing Berwald's bow tie; he really was the only one who's got tie tying talent enough to pass the Norwegian's inspection, mainly from the number of times he's done the Swede's tie in the past.

"That's surprising," the Finn murmurs before stepping aside. "Perfect!" he declares. Christen comes into view over one of Berwald's shoulders.

"Damn that's good," the Dane announces. "You want to go do Lukas's? Emil's getting hell at the moment and I've been banished."

"You don't have to," Berwald immediately feels he has to say, because Timo might be strong but Lukas can be downright cruel, especially when panicked.

"It's fine," and he kisses Berwald's cheek before doing the same to Christen and waving to Peter.

"You two are getting along today," the Dane observes in a low voice.

Berwald rolls his eyes. "We're still us. Just not married anymore is all."

"You ready to take the plunge again big man?" Christen teases, throwing an arm around Swedish shoulders.

"Too afraid to say no to Lukas at this point, even if I did change my mind." In the mirror their eyes meet and they both nod before laughing.

Peter interrupts, calling out, "Should Freja be put into her real dress now?"

"I have a gold ribbon!" the three year old announces.

The Dane scoops his niece up in his arms, kissing her over and over. "Do you now? You're gonna be so pretty Freja!" Leaving him to dress his daughter Berwald takes himself in in the mirror one last time: white shirt, white suite, blue pocket square that matches Lukas's eyes, red bow tie the color of the Norwegian flag. His groom would have a sea-green pocket square with a deep blue bow tie. Their cuff links had been a gift from Christen, bearing their former union flag.

Everything, Berwald thinks as he straightens his jacket, is perfect.

The "te-he-he" behind him is his cue to shake his head and help his brother in blood dress the little girl.

* * *

Holding Freja, he's vaguely aware, is how he's keeping his cool at this point. Not that his girl complains; she adores being held in her papa's strong arms, cooing as others tell her she's pretty as they pass by.

Out the door Berwald can see the guests seating themselves, the sun still high in the sky: Midsummer, his and Lukas's favorite day. A quick glance at the clock says he has two minutes before the ceremony starts. The nice thing about marrying Lukas is that his fiancé sort of had this obsession with being on time; neither of them knows who started doing it first and thus made the other one mad over being freakishly punctual as well.

Peter, in his pale gold suit, comes over and holds out his arms as if to take Freja. Berwald shakes his head, becoming defensive.

"Nope, starting to freak out." That makes his boy roll his eyes.

"You'll be fine Papa."

"This isn't about being fine Pelle." There's a moment's pause before, in English, his son retorts,

"Pelle? Really? You haven't called me that since I was, like, eight or something."

"I'm loosing it," Berwald finally announces which makes Peter laugh.

"You're still doing a right lot better than Lukas according to his brother."

"Speaking of brothers," and Berwald turns with Freja in his arms, the little girl making "wee!" noises, "where's yours?"

"Moping," Peter says chipperly. "What else does Olov do?" Berwald shrugs; Olov, despite also being Swedish, has still yet to settle down under the kingdom's care. Maybe that was part of being a micronation, never getting along with the one you wanted to be independent of. The thought crosses his mind that maybe he should just send Olov to London and call it all even with Arthur.

Now that's amusing.

"I'm going to kill him," a grumble comes as Emil enters, hands massaging his face. Not the first time Berwald had heard the Icelandic nation say that about Lukas, and probably no where near the last time. "He's driving me crazy. I'm going to be relieved when he is solely your problem," Emil says with attitude. Peter laughs and Freja giggles, swinging her feet.

"He's going to be on time though right?" Berwald demands, because he's not sure how much longer he wants his heart to be racing like this. Then again, he's not sure he wants to get to the wedding just yet. "And is he alright? Is he happy? I don't want him worrying–"

"You two," the smaller Nordic nation interrupts, "disgust me with how much you care about each other. It's not normal, be more selfish."

Before he can point out that Emil has a tendency of only talking about his boyfriend in such adoring terms as well Christen comes sliding in, Tessan barking under his arm. "Lukas said he's ready!" the Dane announces happily. "Let's start this wedding."

* * *

Berwald does his best to look calm as he waits at the end of the aisle. They'd had a hell of a time thinking of wedding traditions in both Sweden and Norway, narrowing that list down to ones they actually liked, crossing off the ones that wouldn't work for them as two men, then trying to find a happy balance between their two sets. Peter had assisted with his own suggestions while Freja said that they should do everything. So, he waits at the end of the aisle.

Peter, beside him, is doing a better job at staying calm, giving his father support. The eyes of the guests, mainly European nations with the occasional nation incarnate from somewhere else or rare mortal friend, happily take in their surroundings: the beautiful castle behind them, the lake in the distance, the arch Lukas had had constructed for them to be married under.

"Was I suppose to have another ring for Lukas?" Berwald asks suddenly in a low voice. His son shakes his head.

"I've got it Pops, don't worry."

"Where is he?"

"Dunno– wait, I think he's coming."

Freja comes into view first, Christen sneaking around the side to take his seat up front. Berwald smiles at his little girl as she finishes handing out flowers to the guests along the aisle, Danish arms scooping her up to sit her on his lap. Tessan peaks her head out from beneath those legs to show her approval.

Hand in hand Emil and Lukas finally come down the aisle. If he had had other thoughts Berwald might have recalled that Emil was suppose to come alone before Lukas, or perhaps he might have noticed that the older brother was gripping the younger's hand very tightly. All he registers, however, is his handsome love.

Lukas's gaze never leaves Berwald, his face almost soft. Without much thought he walks out to meet Lukas who releases his brother, the two men finishing the short distance to the official who begins.

* * *

Gold ring now securely on his finger (Berwald would have to investigate it later for whatever hidden secret Lukas had had worked in), the Norwegian's second ring also placed on its respective hand (he'd have to thank his son later for remembering), the services draws to a close.

Berwald takes a moment to allow his gaze to sweep over the entire thing: Emil over his brother's shoulder, smiling despite himself; Christen with a fidgety Freja on his lap, Tessan playing with a Danish shoelaces, the many guests watching them, the lake sparkling in the distance. Photographers were happily snapping away and Berwald is glad; Lukas had planned everything to perfection.

His Lukas.

The man smiles up at him, the most beautiful thing Berwald thinks he's ever seen. He remembers their days as children splashing on the banks of rivers. He remember their first kiss and the giggles that followed. He remembers the night Lukas snuck into his bed and they touched each other, came together for the first time, losing their virginity together. Berwald remembers the lands that they explored and pillaged, the wars that they tended each other after, the unions that they held each other during, the nineteenth century promises to never let other go of each other. The Swede has hated himself for so long for breaking those promises but now, now he was delivering on them.

He barely registers being given the cue, instinct having him wrap his arms around Lukas while Norwegian arms come about his neck, pulling him down for a kiss that's sweet and tantalizing and forever. His husband– oh God that sounded good –puts so much into the kiss and so Berwald reciprocates because they were never much for words. They have always been men of action, and this kiss is the physical embodiment of something words could never fully capture and tame.

Their guests cheer.

* * *

In a tucked away corner somewhere inside the castle he shoves Lukas against the wall, ravaging him. "Don't fuck up my hair," the Norwegian manages between kisses so instead Berwald runs his hands up and down his husband's sides. Lukas pushes against him.

Foreheads together Berwald breathes deeply; Lukas had cut him off first from sex, then kisses, then any physical contact leading up to the wedding. Waking up in bed alone had been hard as well, no one to pull to him and kiss and listen to grumble about coffee. But now his husband was in his arms and the Swede had no intention of ever letting go.

"I love you Berwald," the man finally sighs, stealing a chaste peck.

"I love you too Lukas, so much. And today, today has been perfect, I have to give it to ya."

For just a moment he becomes his normal public self, empty face with its smug look. "Of course it's perfect, I planned it." But then the façade falls and they both laugh, lips meeting lips. They were being worst than giddy school girls and neither of them cared very much.

* * *

Pictures are quickly becoming Freja's favorite part of the day because in an effort to keep her from falling in the grass and getting dirty, she's being passed around between the men to be carried. And Freja Oxenstierna loves being carried.

Olov is out-right refusing to be involved, Timo shaking his head, but Berwald lets the boy be in favor of pulling his ex-husband close under one arm, Peter under the other. Lukas gets his photos between Emil and Christen, then Christen gets both grooms around the neck.

"Meee!" their daughter whines and so Lukas takes her, stepping under one of Berwald's arms as the photographer snaps away. "Peeeteeer," is the next thing out of her mouth and so her brother joins them under his father's arm.

As they all smile for the camera, the Swedish nation watching their three friends off to the side cheering, the rest of the world falls away. Everything feels so normal; they are simply men in love.

* * *

The calm lasts only until the reception, because somehow Christen was put in charge of coordinating the speeches. When Emil tells Berwald the Swede's head snaps to Lukas who's shaking hands with Marijn while Emma plays with Freja.

"Don't give me that look," the Norwegian tuts, moving on to shake Lammert's hand as the guests continue filing in.

Once everyone is settled at their tables, the food starting to come out, the Dane announces the first toast.

"I know normally the father of the bride starts," Erzsébet Héderváry begins, "but there's a couple of things wrong with that particular tradition today." Everyone chuckles, Lukas leaning further into Berwald who has his arm around the back of the Norwegian's chair. "So instead I just wanted to say that, that compassion I saw so long ago, in a castle in Sweden, that sense of a bond between two people that could never be broken and a family that was always meant to be, that's still here after over a century." The Swedish kingdom nods, knowing she means the first Freja. "Though times have changed that hasn't and that, oh, that means you two have got something special here, something we all admire and hope for. So congratulations to you two and congratulations also to your family."

"Here here!" someone calls out and everyone claps.

* * *

As they go around the room, Timo having whispered in Christen's ear to get everyone to say their favorite memory of Berwald and Lukas, the nations share.

"When you let a little Peter," Matthew starts, "take Alfred's seat at the Arctic Council meeting, and refused to make him move– that's a really fond memory for me," and they all laugh as the American pulls a face.

The Canadian passes the mic to Irina beside him who passes the mic on to Ivan. "The courage you've both shown, in times of war and chaos, is commendable and something that will be talked about for centuries to come." Berwald's eyes fall on Timo who claps for the Russian.

"My favorite's still when you're with Freja," Feliks a few tables later announces. "Nothing turns you two from ice giants to lovey-dovey men faster."

Leon, beside Emil, rises slowly. "You two respect others. It is often hard won but it is worthy of the work, for it is respect I can trust in and believe is genuine." Then without a glance to his boyfriend Leon adds, "Plus I like when you embarrass Emil, never stop doing that–" A small struggle ensues as the Icelander tries to cut him off. "Fine you go then!" and Leon releases the mic, Emil finding himself standing with it. Awkwardly he turns to look at Lukas, who nods expectedly.

"I'm waiting," he says in a flat voice that all understand to be a well-intended tease.

"No," but despite him pushing the mic towards Christen, the Dane pushes it back. "No, I don't– ugh, fine." Emil clears his throat and looks straight at Lukas. "You're my brother, you're the one that raised me and was always there for me and made me who I am today. When–" he swallows "–when we were separated I hated it, because you were all I had ever had, you were my best friend. I– well, you know."

"Say it," Lukas baits.

"Shut up."

"Say it."

"And Berwald–" his husband shakes his head at the change of subject, the women laughing and the men clapping "–while my small country to your vast kingdom was never much more than a far-away place, you have always still cared for me too. Seeing you, and my brother, with Freja reminds me of centuries passed where you were there. You never looked down on me, even when I was just a Norwegian or Danish territory. Like, like Leon said, you gave me respect and I have always felt honored to have it. You've always been like family; now you are." Even Freja joins in with the applause, though she hadn't been really listening as she sits on Berwald's knee playing with his salad.

"My turn!" Christen suddenly announces, which is met with a simultaneous groan from both grooms of,

"Oh God no." Laughter sweeps the room.

"I even wrote something down." Fishing in one of his jacket pockets the Dane comes up empty. "Hold on." The mic is placed down on the table, Christen searching with both hands. "Boom! Found it!"

"Boom!" Freja echoes. Lukas kisses one of her shoulders.

"Will warn, I was kind of drunk when I wrote these things down."

"Course you were, get on with it!" the normally quiet Norwegian kingdom shouts.

"I'm going, I'm going, calm down." Quickly scanning the paper Christen finally starts. "Lukas, you abusive pain in my side."

"That's me," he whispers to Berwald, who just chuckles and kisses his husband's head. He takes hold of the Norwegian hand with its wedding ring, spinning it and watching it sparkle in the light coming in from behind him.

"You are everything I never wanted in a friend: Norwegian, prissy, not an alcoholic, and someone who prefers silence to shouting. We're like oil and water, and yet we keep shaking the bottle as if we'll mix. And Berwald, freakishly tall, overly Swedish Berwald: we earned that record of most wars between two countries because we are men! And because– crap, I've forgotten where I was going with that train of thought." The Swede shakes his head. "Anyway, you two are pains in my butt but if any two people belong together to be pains in each other's butts, it's you two. Also I'm only feeding your kids ice-cream and cake while you're on your honeymoon, just thought I'd let you know now." Bowing Christen finishes.

"Ice-cream!" Freja shouts excited, high-fiving Peter.

Rolling his head to one side Berwald whispers, "Do you want the mic?"

"Not yet," Peter says happily as the main course comes out.

"Meatballs!" the little girl announces, and chatter starts up as everyone digs in.

* * *

Fully intent to party into the night Lukas hits the dance floor like the slightly drunk twenty-four year old he is, Christen and Timo following soon after. Emil keeps to one corner with Leon, Peter dancing with Irina while Matthew speaks with her brother.

With Freja asleep on his lap Berwald takes it all in from behind half-closed eyes, sighing deeply. He watches his husband let loose, smiling like history has so rarely allowed him to. Someone sits beside him.

"You should dance too," Lili says sweetly.

"Not really in the mood right now," he replies patiently. "For now I just want to watch and appreciate."

"I have enjoyed seeing you and Mr. Bondevik so happy today," the little Liechtensteinerin sighs. "It makes me happy too."

Having not expected her to say that Berwald smiles for her. "Well I'm glad then. Have you had enough to eat?"

"Oh yes! And the cake was delicious too." It had been a tiered contraption, white with flowers cascading down it. While Berwald can appreciate the beauty in it, he also isn't quite sure why something you're going to just cut up and devour needs to look so fancy. Which was the main reason Lukas had planned everything out and Berwald just had to show up and not forget their kid.

"Lili?" he asks as the music slows, recognizing the song. "Would you care to dance with me?"

"Sure!" she smiles. Placing Freja down carefully so she could keep on sleeping they make their way to the floor, Lukas already dancing with Christen. The one was singing drunkenly, the other laughing at the sight; the Dane had promised not to drink so he could take care of Freja. Tessan sits with Peter at one of the tables.

* * *

Several hours later and most of the guests have by now excused themselves, Berwald thanking them for coming. The women all kiss his cheeks and the men shake his hands. Alfred slips him lube as Arthur tries to push him away, Francis and Matthew following and laughing. The sun is still high though, and Lukas is still full of coffee and vodka.

A hand on his shoulder pulls him down, Timo whispering, "Peter wants to talk to you now." Searching eyes find the teenager sitting in Lukas's seat watching Freja sleep.

"Thanks– and hey." Berwald gives Timo's cheek a kiss, hands on the sides of his neck. "It means a lot to me, that you were here."

"Wouldn't have missed it for the world," the Finn sighs. "Now go listen to our son because then I'm taking him and Olov home. Well, after I find Olov." And with that both men set off on their missions.

"Hey Pelle," the Swede sighs, scooping Freja back up so he could reclaim his seat. "Timo said you wanted to talk."

"I– I didn't really have anything to say in front of everyone," Peter starts, "but I did have some things I wanted to say to you."

"This isn't the, I've replaced you with another step-father talk, is it?" The Sealander laughs.

"Nah though I do think Olov took tonight to shop around for a new one. No, I just, I don't know, wanted to thank you for everything. You're my father," Peter says, his eyes to the ground before he looks up, repeating, "you're my father." And in those big blue eyes Berwald can see his son's love.

"And you're my boy Pelle," he responds, his deep voice trying to stay level. "Family isn't just about blood, you and I both know that."

"I like when you hold Freja," Peter admits, gesturing to his sister. "I imagine you used to hold me like that."

"I wish you would have slept like she does," and they both chuckle.

"I love you Papa," Peter finally says. "I'm proud to be your son and I'm happy to see you finally happy, really, truly happy."

A hand messes up that blond hair. "That's my boy. And I love you too."

* * *

Christen, Freja in his arms and Tessan at his feet, nods as Lukas tries in his slurred words to communicate something. "Yagotig?"

"Yeah I've got it," the Dane assures him, kissing Lukas's head before hugging Berwald. "Watch this one, he's gonna be a mess in the morning."

"Believe me, I'm well aware. Bye Freja." Berwald plants a kiss on her cheek.

"Bye Papa," she mumbles quietly.

"Sha lookeded sooo good," the Norwegian finally manages, hugging his husband. He kisses his head, holding him tight.

"You did too you know Lukas."

"Dij I?" His chin digs into the Swedish chest, his eyes wide as he takes in Berwald. "I luv juo."

"I love you too."

* * *

Emil and Leon are the last to leave. After seeing them off Berwald returns to scoop Lukas up in his arms and carry him out of the great hall to their room upstairs. The only question the Swede really had left was whether once there Lukas would be a horny drunk Norwegian or a violently ill drunk Norwegian.

"I'm Herru Oxenstierna," Lukas mumbles against his chest, somehow managing to combine « Herr » with « Fru » while pronouncing his name right, something most people had trouble with sober. Berwald is deeply impressed.

"You're my Herru Oxenstierna," and he gets them inside the room, closing the door with his foot.

* * *

Horny was the short answer to the question, Lukas trying to pull their clothes off from atop the Swede who rolls them and takes over.

There'a a sweetness to his husband's kisses as they make love, the Norwegian going on and on about how happy he was and how much he loves him. Berwald likes it, though he does love his normally quiet and demanding Lukas too. He holds the other one tightly as they settle in for sleep.

"Today was perfect," Berwald murmurs, one hand running up and down Lukas's back. His other hand inspects his wedding ring, having found the inscription on its inside.

"Berwald: and all good things are yours. Lukas"

"You're perfect," the Swede corrects.

"Fuck yeah I am." And with that he slips his ring back on and goes to sleep.


End file.
